Yesterday my husband took dragged me out to lunch. It should have been an easy bribe—an offer of food I don’t have to shop for, prepare, or clean up from—but I’ve been entrenched in formatting my novel for CreateSpace.
I confess, I tend to get hyper-focused. Actually, I suspect I have Attention Deficit Disorder. I’ve often described myself as undisciplined, but that’s not true. I’m only undisciplined with things I don’t want to do anyway. Controlled chaos. Selective laziness.
I want to write; therefore my fingers can become glued to the keyboard. Literally. Well, almost. I often snack while working, so sometimes my fingers are sticky. If you’re a neat freak, you don’t want to look at my computer … or my workspace in general. You might feel the urge to send pictures to one of those Hoarders shows.
All kidding aside (ahem) I’ve gathered from Twitter that I’m not the only obsessed writer. I see you tweet about forgetting to walk the dog or start dinner or change out of your pajamas—for days. I remember seeing an old movie about a man obsessed with writing … or painting … or inventing … whatever. Someone who cared about him brought food trays to him, but they stacked up outside his door, untouched.
It’s a good thing I have a husband who insists on being fed daily or I might waste away. Ha! Who am I kidding? I’d find one of those food tray delivery services. Oh wait! I already have one. It’s called Me ‘n’ Ed’s Pizza. Don’t worry about me. I’m good. But if any of you want to bring me a tray, my door’s not locked. Just push the empty teacups, coke cans, and chip bags aside.
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